


Faking It

by castielrisingabove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hunter!Castiel, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot Twists, Sharing a Bed, bartender!Dean, deancastropefest, fake married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielrisingabove/pseuds/castielrisingabove
Summary: Dean Winchester is a bartender in Austin, but his life is turned upside down when his bar is attacked by a supernatural creature. Next thing Dean knows, he's wrapped up in a fake marriage with the attractive hunter Castiel in order to investigate a string of supernatural attacks in Dean's neighborhood. There's just one problem: Dean's actually starting to fall for Castiel.





	1. Hot Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so PUMPED about releasing this fic! Major thanks to my INCREDIBLE artist [usearechan](https://usarechan.tumblr.com) and my FANTASTIC beta [soluscheese](https://soluscheese.tumblr.com)! And thanks to our incredibly patient tropefest mods! Y'all are the real MVPs!

Dean stared down at the sleeping form on his futon, trying to make sense of the series of events that resulted in his strangest regular crashing in his apartment for the foreseeable future. A week ago, Dean was just a bartender on the outskirts of Austin. His only worries were the average sort; paying the bills, serving customers and trying to figure out what to do with the somewhat creepy patron who’d taken a liking to sitting in the back corner of his bar.

Now, that very creep, whose name turned out to be Castiel, was crashing on Dean’s couch, still wearing his ripped jeans and several layers of flannel. His leather jacket stood in as a pillow, even though Dean had _offered_ blankets and pillows. To say Castiel was a weird dude would be the understatement of the year.

The chain of events that had sent Dean spiraling into a whirlwind of chaos started with a monster attack. Because yeah, apparently _monsters_ existed. At the time, Dean was trying to coax the unusual (albeit attractive) stranger from his spot in the corner of the bar when something that could only be described as wolfish burst through the doors. It managed to gash Dean’s shoulder and throw the other man across the bar. Nearly bit Dean’s leg off, too, if Castiel hadn’t shot it.

Of course, after someone saves your life, you can’t just get by with a _thank you_ and an offer for free beer, so Dean did what anybody would do and asked Castiel if there was anything he needed. A place to stay, maybe, or a couple hot meals. Dean was _not_ expecting to be asked to play “fake husbands” as Castiel worked undercover on a long-term hunt in Austin. Certainly not the request Dean had expected, but the guy had saved his _life_...

So, yeah. Now Dean had a mysterious (and hot) fake husband living in his apartment.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, turning his back on the couch to snag a pint of ice cream from the freezer. He tiptoed carefully to avoid making noise, anything could rouse his attractive house guest. Grab the ice cream. Retrieve a spoon. Sit, slowly. Might be a bit ridiculous, eating chocolate ice cream at 2 AM, but Dean couldn’t sleep and besides, the situation couldn’t get any stranger.

“Hello, husband,” Castiel mumbled sleepily, his deep voice sending shivers down Dean’s spine.

Okay, so maybe it _could_ get stranger. Because there was one more tiny complication in the whole ridiculous situation: Dean was starting to fall for Castiel.

“Toldja,” Dean said softly, hoping Castiel was just half asleep, “You don’t gotta call me husband when we’re alone.”

“Okay,” Cas sat up, his dark hair a wild mess, “What do I call you instead?”

So much for the asleep thing. Dean bit his lip, trying not to think about how much Castiel’s hair resembled sex-hair right now. Seriously, if they weren’t living together, Dean would have thought his friend had gone out for a fun night. He almost felt jealous, imagining the mysterious other love that caught Castiel’s attention. Ugh. Nope. Abort that thought process.

“Could just call me Dean, y’know,” Dean said as casually as he could muster.

Cas stretched, wincing as he remembered the broken arm, before sliding off the couch to join Dean at the kitchen counter. “Dunno if Dean fits as well as husband does,” Castiel yawned, sending yet another shiver down Dean’s spine. He glanced at the ice cream container and spoon, then back to Dean. “Are we eating right now?”

“Unfortunately,” Dean stood up to retrieve a second spoon for Castiel, holding it out to hunter, “Though I was hoping not to wake you up.”

“Not your fault,” Castiel grabbed the spoon, his calloused fingers brushing against Dean’s, “Not sleeping through the night is kind of the hunter lifestyle.”

 _The hunter lifestyle_. Dean had learned more about hunting in the last two days than he had about his fake husband. The only things Dean had managed to learn about Castiel was that the guy was a hunter, had an insanely high alcohol tolerance and didn’t like to talk about himself. Not even when bribed with free shots. Which Dean had tried.

But he was too tired to press Castiel now. Instead, Dean opted to eat in silence, passing the ice cream container to Castiel from time to time until it was practically empty.

“You know,” Castiel said finally, “I have heard of couples spooning before. If this is the activity they’re referring to...people are right. It _is_ enjoyable.”

Dean choked on his ice cream at the thought of actually spooning with Castiel.

Castiel stared at him for a moment before swiping the ice cream container and finishing off the last couple bites. His eyes didn’t leave Dean, though, and it felt a little like Castiel was staring right into his soul. Like if he squinted just enough, Castiel might be able to pick up on the dad issues and fears of abandonment that was basically Dean’s entire core.

Meanwhile, when Dean stared at Castiel, he just found himself trying to mentally undress the guy. Except every time he tried to mentally remove a layer of flannel, there just seemed to be another flannel underneath. Then again, that could just be because it was 2:30 AM and Dean desperately needed some shut-eye.

“I’m gonna call it a night,” Dean said, picking up both spoons to drop in the sink. He scooped the empty ice cream container off the table, tossing it in the garbage can. “If you need anything, feel free to ask.”

Castiel nodded seriously, making his way back to the futon. Dean felt slightly guilty about leaving the injured guy to crash on his old futon. The thing was green, musty and very lumpy. But Castiel had insisted on taking it and turns out, he could be _scary_ if he put his mind to it. So Castiel was on the futon.

Dean paused in the doorway of his bedroom, looking out to the small living room. Castiel was already sprawled on the couch, wrapped in an old white comforter. It was an endearing sight. “Good night, Cas,” Dean said, wondering if he’d ever get used to having a stranger in his bedroom.

“Good night, husband,” Castiel called back.

Yeah, Dean wasn’t gonna be used to that any time soon. _Just until the hunt is over_ , Dean reminded himself. Just one hunt and Castiel would be gone and back on the road. Then Dean wouldn’t have to worry about his ridiculous crush anymore. He could do that, right? Mulling over the question, Dean allowed himself to drift into into slumber.

“I would like to earn my keep,” a deep voice breathed into Dean’s ear, startling Dean awake.

Rubbing his eyes, Dean squinted up to find Castiel bent over his bed, face so close to Dean’s that they could have easily kissed. Huh. As he woke up more, the full situation hit him. _They were so close they could kiss_.

“What the _hell?_ ” Dean cried, scrambling away from Castiel so quickly that he hit his head on the bed frame.

“You said tell you if I had any requests,” Castiel replied, “And I realized I have yet to earn my place in your home.”

It was true, since Castiel arrived, he hadn’t done much (well, he hadn’t done anything) in the way of chores. He’d been busy, but that business concerned cleaning weapons and reading thick, dusty books of monster lore. Still, Dean didn’t really care what Castiel did. The guy saved his life, as far as Dean was concerned, he’d earned his keep several times over. Dean certainly wasn’t about to insist that Castiel take part in household jobs.

Not to mention, it felt _too early_ to try to divvy up chores with Castiel. Sure enough, a quick glance at his nightstand clock revealed it was only 5:15. “Can we talk about it later, Cas? I dunno how hunters do it, but regular people usually like to get more than three hours of shut eye.”

“What should I do until then?”

Dean groaned. “I dunno, Cas. Watch TV?”

“I would like the earn my keep.”

“Clean the kitchen or something?” Dean relented. He’d never have asked Castiel point blank to clean his kitchen, but hey, the guy offered. And Dean had definitely left a few dirty dishes in his sink; living with an attractive fake husband had really thrown him off his rhythm.

Castiel nodded and Dean could practically see the gears churning in his head as he left the room. That was another thing Dean had learned about Cas, the guy took everything very seriously. Dean figured that must just be how hunters were, dark and brooding and constantly trying to remain three steps ahead of all monsters.

With Castiel gone, Dean tried to relax back into his pillow. It wasn’t even six AM yet. Not even his little brother, Sam, who was an absolute health nut, would be up before six. Sam had joined the cross country when he was in high school and made running a habit. Now a lawyer in California, Sam still ran religiously, which was even crazier in Dean’s opinion. Nobody should wake up early, especially not to run.

Eventually, Dean’s body relaxed and his eyes drifted shut. Sleep began to creep in, Dean could feel himself sinking into his bed as darkness filled his vision–

“–how do I do the dishes?” Castiel had, somehow, once again managed to sneak into Dean’s room without a sound, only announcing his presence as he asked his question. Dean blinked. This was the guy who had single-handedly taken out a werewolf and helped Dean dispose of the body. How could he not know how to wash dishes?

“Just wash ‘em with soap and put ‘em in the dishwasher,” Dean mumbled.

“Of course. I will do that,” Castiel nodded, turning on his heel to leave. He paused in the doorway. “Dean?”

Dean groaned in response.

“Thank you,” Castiel said softly, vanishing before Dean could respond.

That might be something to feel about, but Dean was too exhausted to care. There was too much to worry about with this entire situation and if he was going to face even half of it, well, he was gonna need his beauty sleep. A small part of his brain raised alarm bells–Cas might need more help with the dishes–but Dean ignored it. What was the worst thing that could happen?

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice sounded urgent, worried, even. He didn’t even sound that upset when facing a werewolf with a broken arm. Dean jerked awake, pushing out of bed so quickly that he knocked heads with the hunter. Rubbing his head, Dean squinted up at Castiel. The sun was up now, so he’d at least bought himself an hour of sleep, but at what price?

“Is another monster nearby?” Dean asked, scanning the room for something, anything, that could be used as a weapon. As much as he hated to admit it, the whole “monsters are real” thing had rattled him. Dean honestly wasn’t sure how he’d rest easy without Castiel around, at least now he knew there was someone who could save his life.

Castiel shook his head. “God, no. I wish it was a monster. _Those_ I can figure out,” he grumbled, “But your dishwasher is...well, I don’t know if it does this often, but it’s spewing...bubbles.”

Bubbles? Dean relaxed back into his pillow, that wasn’t a half bad situation. Nothing was trying to kill them; Dean now had a new benchmark for what he would worry about. If it wasn’t gonna kill ‘em, it wasn’t pressing.

The hunter, however, did not seem to subscribe to that method of thinking. He shook Dean roughly. “I do not think you understand the gravity of the situation,” Castiel said, voice strained, “There are bubbles everywhere. I believe I have angered the machine.”

A dawning sense of horror crept up Dean’s chest. Bubbles. Everywhere. He shot out of bed, racing to the kitchen in nothing but his boxers to find bubbles pouring from the dishwasher. _Shit_. “Uh, Cas, buddy,” Dean turned the dishwasher off, “What soap did you put in here?”

Castiel held up a half-empty bottle of hand soap.

 _Hand soap_.

Evidently hunters, albeit skilled at defeating evil supernatural forces, were lacking in the departments of _housework_ and _common sense_. Dean groaned. He was well and truly awake now, nothing like a good shot of adrenaline and an overflowing dishwasher to take the place of a hot cup of coffee.

Living with Castiel might be a nightmare in more ways than one.

When Dean turned around, however, Castiel looked so earnestly disappointed that Dean’s sleep-deprived heart absolutely melted. How a hardened hunter could also manage to look so damn cute was beyond Dean. “It happens,” Dean lied with a shrug. An idea hit him. “If you want,” he added with a grin, “You could make it up to me by telling me something about you.”

“I do not understand how bartering personal information will help with the dishwasher.”

“It won’t. But it _will_ help with our fake cover.”

Castiel stared at him, then relented. “I haven’t always been a hunter.”

“What, like when you were a baby?”

Castiel shook his head. “I believe it would be considered what I did professionally, before I turned to hunting.”

“Were you an accountant?” Dean blurted out. Stupid. Why would Castiel have been an accountant? He was _way_ too cool for that. But, still, Dean couldn’t help but get the sense that Castiel would have rocked a suit and trench coat in another life.

“An accountant?” Castiel tilted his head, squinting at Dean with an expression that seemed to say _how dare you think that_.

Dean fumbled for something cooler. Something more intense. “An...assassin?”

“Somewhat,” Castiel replied, adding, “I hope this satiates your desire to pry into my personal dealings.”

Uh, absolutely not. Finding out Castiel was sort of an assassin was the opposite of curbing Dean’s intense curiosity. But there were still bubbles to be cleaned up and Castiel didn’t look particularly forthcoming, so, dropping the subject seemed to be in Dean’s best interest.

After the bubbles incident came breakfast. Castiel had offered to make it, but Dean insisted he rest. Given the success of mission: wash the dishes, Dean was loathe to find out what Castiel’s version of pancakes tasted like. Dean’s, on the other hand, weren’t half bad. After a childhood of feeding Sam breakfast, Dean could whip up a decent pancake, complete with chocolate chips slipped in the batter.

Making breakfast also helped Dean slide into a familiar ritual. First breakfast, then his to-do list. He could do that...even if today’s to-do list was bound to include hunting and hunter baby-sitting.

“So,” Dean said, plopping a plate of pancakes in front of Castiel, “You still haven’t told me about the case.”

Castiel poked the pancake with a fork before cutting into it. He hummed happily as he ate a bite. “These pancakes are very good, husband.”

“Not husband,” Dean reminded him.

“Honey?” Castiel tried, “You are still my fake lover.”

Marginally better than husband, at least. “Glad you like ‘em,” Dean plopped a few on his own plate, “Now, about the case?”

“Right,” Castiel ate another large bite of pancake, talking with his mouth full, “Well, recently I have discovered a bit of a...problem.”

“Seems pretty on par for the rest of the supernatural forces you’ve taken on,” Dean replied.

“Not this,” Castiel frowned, “Recently there’s been an uptick in…” he paused, poking his pancake thoughtfully, “...well, I’m suspecting it’s shape-shifters.”

“Like the werewolf?”

Castiel rolled his eyes as though Dean had said something colossally stupid. “Those have set forms. Human and wolf,” he explained slowly, “A shape-shifter can take on the form of anyone. They could look like you or me. And that’s the problem.”

“Because they blend in?”

“Because I’ve caught word of a shape-shifter looking like _me_ ,” Castiel replied grumpily, “All the work I’ve done to keep the general populace safe is going to be severely hindered if the general populace thinks I’m out to kill them.”

“And he’s here?”

“I think a number of them are,” Castiel replied, “They’ve been targeting bars in Texas, all with faces of hunters I know.”

“How do you know it isn’t just hunters doing it?”

“Aside from the fact I’ve heard rumor of my own doppelgänger out for blood?” Castiel asked, “Their eyes glow. Well, sort of. It’s hard to explain, but if you catch a glimpse of their eyes at the right angle, it’s pretty clear they aren’t human.”

Dean nodded, a chill running down his spine. There were creatures out for blood, disguised as humans, targeting bars. “So, you’re being my fake husband because it keeps you onsite at a bar?” Dean asked. Dean wasn’t just a bartender, he’d managed to start his business in a building that allowed him to live just above his workplace. The commute was fantastic.

“Well, that and you’re hot,” Castiel said, absolutely dead-pan. Dean choked on his pancake as Castiel squinted. “Objectively, you hit many of the Western standards of beauty. Has nobody pointed it out?”

Dean flushed. “I mean, people point it out, but, y’know,” he turned to grab jam. Did they need jam? Nope. But Dean couldn’t face Castiel at this given moment. He whacked himself with his own fridge door.

“I don’t know,” Castiel responded, “What?”

“Most people aren’t...y’know,” Dean gestured awkwardly. He wanted to finish with _hot as hell_ , but settled with, “My fake husband.”

Castiel’s squint grew more pronounced. “I understand,” he said finally, much to Dean’s relief. Dean reached into the fridge, searching for the strawberry jam when Castiel added, “As your fake husband, it would naturally be my duty to extol your beauty more often.”

Dean hit his head on the top of the fridge.

He rubbed the sore spot as he returned empty-handed. Castiel didn’t seem to notice, instead deep in thought. “If we are husbands,” Castiel said, “You ought to extol my good looks too.”

Oh _lord_. That could take all morning. Trying to keep his mind from racing, Dean awkwardly fumbled through a compliment. “You have...nice...eyes.”

Nice eyes? _Nice_ eyes? Castiel had the most amazing eyes Dean had ever seen! But he was panicking, trying to no-homo their full-homo fake marriage, and besides, Castiel didn’t actually have feelings towards Dean. Dean couldn’t exactly get attached to a drifter.

Castiel nodded seriously. “That sounds convincing. No doubt everyone else will buy our marriage ruse.”

Convincing? Dean didn’t feel like he was handling this fake marriage well. Unfortunately, the alternative was getting even more cozy with a guy Dean already had a budding crush on. No thank you. But as Dean watched Castiel eat another pancake, seriously no man should look so cute, Dean knew he was well and truly doomed. He’d fallen hard.


	2. Hot Acquaintance

Faking a marriage in public, as it happened, was infinitely more difficult than faking one in the privacy of Dean’s apartment. Dean spent the entire drive to Rocky’s, another bar that had been hit a week ago, planning how he was gonna play the fake marriage thing, but no amount of thought changed the fact Dean’s heart leapt in his chest as soon as Castiel took his hand on the way into the bar.

“We’re not open yet,” a familiar voice called out and Dean froze.

Dean had worked at Rocky’s before he’d started his own bar, Winchesters. As such, Dean knew a few people who worked there, including, to his dismay, Benny. When Castiel insisted they’d be visiting Rocky’s, Dean’s stomach had dropped. Later, Dean even prayed to every deity that Benny _wouldn’t_ be working. Dean and Benny had become infamous at Rocky’s for their “will-they-won’t-they.” It hadn’t ended well.

Then again, the universe had given Dean the absolute hottest fake husband, so it wasn’t in the business of making life convenient for Dean.

“Hey, Benny!” Dean shouted, “It’s Dean Winchester.”

Benny poked his head out of the kitchen. “Dean Winchester? As I live and breathe,” he laughed, wiping his hands on an apron as he made his way to Dean and Cas. He wrapped Dean in a tight hug before realizing Castiel was there. “Who’s this?”

“Castiel Winchester,” Castiel replied, glaring daggers at Benny.

“Cousin?” Benny asked.

“Husband,” Castiel responded grumpily.

“No shit? Congratulations,” he paused, then added, “Didn’t peg you as the type to settle down.”

“Uh,” Dean opened his mouth, caught between a rock and hard place. Castiel was, strangely, irritated and Benny wasn’t exactly the best person to test their fake married ruse on. In an attempt to legitimize the ruse, Dean clumsily moved to kiss Castiel’s cheek. He missed, kissing Castiel’s earlobe instead. Both Dean and Castiel flushed pink. Dean jerked away. “I thought so too, till I met Cas.”

Benny eyed them shrewdly. Castiel glared back. _Damn_ , Castiel might struggle in some aspects of faking a relationship, but he had the role of jealous husband down pat. Eventually, Benny held up his hands in a half-shrug, half-surrender. “Well, what can I do for you newly-weds?”

Castiel didn’t speak, still staring daggers at Benny. Silence stretched well into the realm of awkwardness when Dean finally spoke up. “My husband’s a worrier,” Dean said, “He keeps hearing about attacks happening at bars and, well,” he bumped Castiel’s shoulder with his own, “Cas thinks it’s gonna happen to me. When I heard _your_ bar was one of them that got caught up in it, Cas, uh, begged me to come ask around.”

“Seen anyone with creepy eyes?” Castiel added.

Benny raised his eyebrows. “I mean, you’re giving me a pretty scary death glare right now.”

“Eyes that glow,” Castiel insisted. “Did you see anything like that?”

Benny frowned, shooting Dean a look. Castiel didn’t notice, rummaging through his jacket to pull out a worn photograph. Dean didn’t realize how used to Castiel’s hand he’d grown until Castiel let go, walking to Benny to show him the photos. “Any of these familiar?”

Dean couldn’t see the pictures, but he did notice Benny’s easy-going demeanor slip for just a moment. “That guy,” Benny said, pointing at one of the photos, “Came in lookin’ for...something. I dunno what. But when he didn’t find it, things got dicey.” He glanced up at Dean, “Y’all caught up in something, Dean?”

“Just very paranoid,” Castiel muttered. “I worry about my husband.”

“Not yourself?” Benny asked cooly. Once again, Dean wondered if testing their ‘fake husband’ ruse on someone he had history with was really the best idea.

“In my line of work, my life always comes second.”

“He’s a firefighter,” Dean blurted out. Immediately, he cursed inwardly. Nothing like stoking the flames of his burgeoning crush like fantasizing about his fake husband as a _firefighter_.

“Yes,” Castiel, hesitantly adding, “I battle fire.”

Another awkward silence fell.

“So, you’re not gonna ask about how I’m doing?” Benny asked.

“You appear to be fine.”

“Coulda been mentally scarred,” Benny volleyed back, “Besides, I was actually aiming that question at my old friend, not his new flame.”

“I fight fire. In my line of work I ensure there are no flames,” Castiel repeated and Dean resisted the urge to face palm. Instead, he took Castiel’s hand, giving it another squeeze. Dean would have preferred a less physical method to quiet Castiel, but he couldn’t exactly explain aloud, in front of Benny, why Castiel needed to be less...well...weird.

“I should have called,” Dean admitted to Benny. He did regret that, although, to be fair, only a couple days had passed before Castiel came barrelling into his life. “I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?”

Benny laughed. “Figures, newly-wed. Andrea was the same way after we’d gotten hitched, totally lost track of her acquaintances.” His face fell ever so slightly, the way it always did when he mentioned his late wife. “But I’m fine. None of my staff got hurt, just a few customers, though now everyone’s a bit rattled. Can’t blame ‘em, really. Luckily, business has been better than ever. Guess the news did us good.”

Dean nodded. “Well, if you notice anything else...call? Cas really is good at, uh, handling...things.”

Not the best way to say that.

“I handled Dean’s thing very well,” Castiel added earnestly, prompting a bark of laughter from Benny.

“I’m sure you do, buddy,” Benny said through peals of laughter. Dean wished he could sink through the floor, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice as he nodded seriously. As Benny calmed, he turned to face Dean. “Keep in touch, okay? Us bartenders might as well look out for each other.”

They hugged again, though Dean couldn’t help but notice this was a much shorter, minimal contact sort of embrace.

“Glad you’ve got someone looking out for you,” Benny added as Dean left the bar. Huh. Maybe their ruse had worked after all.

The longer they spent talking to bartenders, the easier it was to slip into the illusion that Castiel was his husband. Dean had assumed that he’d be deadweight on this part of Castiel’s hunt, awkwardly standing by Castiel’s side as some sort of reassurance that Castiel could be trusted. To Dean’s surprise, however, Castiel regularly let Dean take point. Dean talked about their sob story (which was believed much more readily by other bar owners) and asked for help. Castiel would quietly show them the photographs and they’d talk some more.

The consensus was the same: the people came into the bar looking for something (or, as one bartender was certain, someone). They’d scare the paying customers and, without fail, a fight would break out. There were a few injuries and one death, but all of the bartenders had come to a similar conclusion that, if the people found the bar they _were_ looking for, there was gonna be problems.

One spooked customer was even certain that she’d seen Castiel before, which of course only served to rattle Cas. He didn’t speak until they’d returned to the car.

“Doin’ alright, husband?” Dean asked, using the nickname jokingly.

Castiel didn’t look up from his hands. “She was scared of me.”

“You are a scary dude,” Dean said, trying to be comforting, “I mean, I was kind of scared of you when we first met.”

“I’m scary when I hunt,” Castiel admitted, “But I shouldn’t be...people shouldn’t be _scared_ of me. Most people see me saving lives, not…”

 _Taking them_.

“We’ll figure this out,” Dean said softly, not even aware he’d used _we’re_ until Castiel reached out to take his hand. They were alone in a car, no fakery to be had, but Dean couldn’t turn it down. He gave Castiel’s hand a squeeze.

They drove in silence for a while. “Hey,” Dean said finally, “Why did you let me run your investigations? I’m not a hunter. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Castiel blushed. “Truth be told I’m not…” he wavered, “Well, my people skills are ‘rusty’ to say the least.”

“But you’ve been hunting for a while!”

“I...may or may not _poach_ other hunts,” Castiel ran a hand through his hair, “I’ll find other hunters working a case and offer to take on the fighting after they do the...talking to people part. And most of ‘em agree...why risk your life when you don’t have to?”

“That explains you getting fake married to the first person you saw,” Dean muttered.

“The first _attractive_ person I saw,” Castiel corrected with a smile. Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but grin back at that statement. “Also, you own a bar,” Castiel added, “That was going to be helpful. And you do well talking to people so...another real perk.”

“Ah, yeah, the three pillars of marriage,” Dean laughed, “Bar ownership, people skills and a nice ass.”

Castiel laughed along with Dean, but as his laughter subsided, he shot Dean a shy glance before looking away.

Well, that was confusing.

Dean tried to forget about it, instead throwing himself into planning how exactly he was supposed to integrate Castiel into his bartending. After all, Dean prided himself in treating his employees like family. How was he supposed to convince them they were dating? In the end, Dean settled on telling them a half-truth. He and Castiel were faking it, but that was only because Castiel had an awful ex out looking for him.

“You look kinda like the guy on the news,” Pamela, Dean’s seasoned bartender, said when Dean introduced them.

Castiel grunted in response.

“He’s not fond of the resemblance,” Dean translated.

“Where’d y’all meet?” asked Garth, Dean’s very friendly dishwasher.

“Here.”

“In Austin,” Dean added, “Cas was working out in a park and, uh, ran right into me.”

“So, how long have you known each other?” interjected Charlie, the energetic, well, force of nature who’d managed to burst into Dean’s life as resident video game expert and LARP buddy.

“It feels like a lifetime,” Castiel said, tone entirely serious as he seemed to stare into Dean’s very soul.

“You’ve definitely got the fake married thing down,” Charlie said with a laugh. “Just don’t go getting too attached to our Dean here,” she wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulder, “He’s not exactly the kind of guy to settle down, if you know what I mean.”

Castiel nodded astutely. “I assumed as much when he woke me up to spoon last night.”

The bar filled with wolf-whistles and cheers as Dean turned beet red. Okay, yeah, he had one night stands, but not with Cas! Cas was _different_ , which was a realization that was absolutely not something Dean should be realizing while surrounded by co-workers. Because as cheesy as it was, Castiel’s earlier statement was right. It had felt like a lifetime since he’d met Castiel.

“Your bar is quite excited by ice cream,” Castiel muttered in Dean’s ear, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean replied weakly, trying _not_ to think about how very close Castiel’s lips were to his ear at the given moment, “Ice cream.”

The rest of the night was a disaster. Okay, that statement wasn’t quite true. No supernatural creature attacked the bar, something Dean had never previously considered, but was now his baseline. Did a monster attack? Well, then it couldn’t be the worst thing to happen. Still, it had to be pretty damn close: Castiel was even cuter trying to help at the bar.

For a guy who could imbibe an absurd amount of alcohol, Castiel seemed to know _nothing_ about the drinks themselves. He cut four limes for eight shots, shoving half a lime into a shot glass before dousing it with tequila, the majority of which ended up on the counter. He asked Charlie where they kept the virgin’s blood in order to mix a bloody Mary and once, when Castiel had been left without supervision, he actually _left the building_ to search for a couple decent pebbles for a whiskey “on the rocks.”

Dean could hardly believe this was the same guy who’d single-handedly fought a werewolf.

Castiel seemed to think similarly, as Dean caught him muttering swears later on in the evening as he couldn’t even manage to properly pour a beer. The night had grown late, the bar was almost empty. If a shape-shifter was going to stop by, Dean reasoned, it would have already come. No point in making Castiel suffer.

Usually Dean closed shop, but Pamela graciously agreed–even if she did so with a knowing wink in Castiel’s direction.

“ _Can take on an entire nest of vamps,_ ” Castiel grumbled under his breath, “ _gotta be able to pour beer._ ”

“Shift change,” Dean interrupted, snagging the beers from Castiel’s hand to serve to customers. “It’s past your bedtime.”

“Hunters don’t _have_ bedtimes,” Castiel muttered, though he allowed Dean to guide him out of the bar and up the stairs to his apartment. He only managed to kick off his boots before making a beeline to the futon, plopping onto the lumpy surface face first. _God_. No man should be allowed to be this endearing.

Dean debated about making a move.

Normally, he’d have already made a move. Castiel would have been one hot, satisfied stranger who’d made it out the door before breakfast the following morning. Normally, on the rare occasion Dean tried something more serious, it would have taken more than a couple days of fake dating to get him to break the ice. Normally, Dean wouldn’t be pining awkwardly after someone he’d agreed to fake date in the first place. And, most importantly, Dean didn’t normally go all mushy for someone.

But monsters were the new normal. And Cas was part of this new normal, strange and confusing and cute and kind of perfect. Dean debated his options the entire walk to his bedroom, a walk that was agonizingly slow as he tried to weigh the pros and cons. When Dean hit his bedroom, he hesitated once again, staring at Castiel trying to get comfortable on an old futon.

Screw it. If Dean could survive a monster attack, he could survive this too. “Hey,” he said, embarrassingly aware of how his voice seemed to drop an octave.

Castiel looked up.

“You, uh, wanna leave the futon?” Dean said, “The bed might be more comfortable.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Castiel replied, “I’ve been living in your home, eating your food...the last thing I want to do is take your bed too.”

Shit. This might not be easy. Rattled, but still determined, Dean tried again. “Might get cold out there in the living room…” he said, “The bed might be warmer.”

“Oh.” Castiel cocked his head, leveling one of his intense gazes in Dean’s directions. “Do you have a blanket I can borrow?”

Was Dean not being obvious enough? Or was Castiel trying to say he wasn’t interested? Maybe the wise thing to do would be to back off, after all, they were faking a marriage and working together on a hunt and–

“It’s big enough for two,” Dean blurted out before he could stop himself.

Castiel smiled and for a split second, Dean’s heart leapt into his chest. It was happening, it was happening, _it was happening_!

“That’s nice,” Castiel replied, “You deserve a quality bed.”

Third strike, Dean was _definitely_ out. He tried to hide his disappointment. “Thanks, Cas.” Dean could barely face Castiel as he tossed him a spare comforter, the least the guy deserved was a good blanket. Dean didn’t look him in the eye.

With that, Dean turned tail and retreated into his bedroom. By all counts, that was one of the biggest swings and misses Dean Winchester had ever encountered. In fact, it might have been the _only_ miss he’d ever experienced. It wasn’t the failure that caught Dean so off-guard (though, of course, for someone who failed so rarely, it was quite a blow) but the odd certainty he’d had that Castiel would reciprocate it.

Guess that was what Dean got for faking a marriage.

Dean shoved a pillow over his face. It was embarrassing, he wasn’t actually supposed to be falling for the guy who saved his life. Besides, he was a suave player, he shouldn’t be getting caught up in an act. Deep down, though Dean knew it wasn’t just the act, Castiel was gorgeous, and good company to boot. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Castiel’s hunt to end quickly, or last for ages. Maybe, just maybe, after a couple weeks, or months...Castiel might feel the same way towards Dean.

The whole thing was ridiculous, anyway. Dean wasn’t some hopeless romantic. He _wasn’t_ . That had always been Sam, who’d been careful in who he dated and had been more than happy to settle down with his girlfriend, Jess. Sam was the guy who was living out the domestic fantasy of a wife, two kids and a dog. Dean was happy being the easy-going, single uncle. And he’d always been _fine_ (well, mostly fine) with that fact. There was no reason Castiel should be messing that up.

Of course, no amount of logic could stop Dean’s subconscious. After he finally managed to fall asleep, Dean dreamed of he and Castiel on the open road. From what he could tell, Dean had sold the bar. Or ditched it, anyway. Either way, Dean was no longer a bartender, but a hunter working alongside Cas. Except in this dream, Castiel looked like an accountant. Although the trench coat and blue tie were unfamiliar, the grumpy frown on Castiel’s face was spot on. His expression seemed to be warranted, too, as Dean realized the Impala was being chased by massive winged creatures. It really shouldn’t have been a pleasant dream, and yet when Dean woke up, groggy and confused, all that was left was a feeling.

Everything could go wrong in the world, but if he was with Castiel, he was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing art courtesy of [usearechan](https://usarechan.tumblr.com)!


	3. Hot Friend

Faking a marriage was, surprisingly, much harder when Dean realized he was head over heels for Castiel. Every time they held hands, or exchanged a rare cheek kiss, or even just stood close to each other, Dean could feel his heart race. It was like for a brief moment, Dean could pretend that what they had together was real.

Worse, they’d fallen into a rhythm. Dean had grown accustomed to cooking for two, basking in Castiel’s inevitable stream of compliments at the meal.The poor guy was used to _diner food_ , which was fine, but between Dean’s skill of cooking and Austin’s overwhelming selection of eateries, Dean ensured Castiel ate like a king. And no, not because Castiel smiled so damn sweetly at Dean every time he encountered something particularly delicious. It was because Castiel had saved his life. Dean owed him as much, obviously.

Although they continued investigating the case, they kept coming up with nothing. The shape-shifter attacks had waned, much to Castiel’s confusion. “If they’d found what they were looking for,” Castiel hummed nervously as they discussed the issue at the grocery store, “Wouldn’t the bartender have realized it?”

Personally, Dean was relieved it seemed like the case was solving itself. The last thing he wanted was for Castiel to put himself in harm’s way. Still, there was one glaring problem with not having a case...they wouldn’t be fake married. Castiel would give his goodbyes and be off on the road, far from Dean. So Dean didn’t try to persuade Castiel that the case went cold.

“Makes sense, Cas,” Dean nodded absentmindedly as he selected a few apples. Tonight he was gonna blow Castiel’s mind with a homemade apple pie. For gratitude, of course. “What do you think we should do?”

“Wait, I guess,” Castiel shrugged, poking at an orange.

Dean wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard such good news before. “Well, while we’re waiting, hunter,” Dean had taken to adding that nickname to the mix, “You might as well help me with tonight’s dinner.”

“You think that’s a good idea after the bar incident?”

“Those drinks weren’t...terrible,” Dean lied.

“Pamela says husbands are supposed to say that,” Castiel replied, bumping Dean’s shoulder lightly as they left the produce aisle. “She also said people might say they tasted good because they’re getting more alcohol than they paid for.”

“And because their bartender is Adonis walking,” Dean added without thinking. When he realized what exactly he’d said, Dean stopped short. Castiel walked right into him.

“Who is Adonis?” Castiel asked, “Someone famous?”

“Something like that,” Dean muttered, relieved. When they were purposely faking it, compliments were fine, but the last thing Dean needed was for Castiel to figure out that Dean’s fake relationship actions were starting to seep into his reality. “Anyway, if you’re gonna help with dinner, might as well help with the ingredients. Can you grab me a bag of frozen chicken breasts?”

It was gonna be pie night in the Winchester household. Chicken pot pie for dinner, apple pie for dessert. Dean was planning to convert Castiel to the merits of pie if it was the last thing he did.

As Castiel returned with a bag of chicken, Dean sent him after a bag of assorted frozen vegetables, hating the fact that even in grocery shopping, they’d fallen into an easy routine. He couldn’t exactly spend his time expecting this to last forever. By the time they checked out, Castiel had not only gotten what Dean had requested, he’d also managed to slide a box of sugar cereal, a strange looking fruit and a glass bottle of sparkling water into the cart.

“Cas, what have I said about off the list purchases?”

“I can only have one,” Cas muttered. He stared at the items, a pout creasing his oddly intense face as he tried to figure out which two to abandon. Although that demand had worked the first time they’d gone shopping together, Dean quickly realized they might be at the store all day while Castiel tried to decide between his assortment.

“Fine,” Dean sighed, “Just this once, we can get all of them.”

“Really?”

“Sure, it’s a special occasion, why not,” Dean shrugged. They’d been working together for a month now. Sure, Dean wasn’t usually the one to celebrate anniversaries of any sort, and yeah, it was obviously foolish to make note of an anniversary that involved being saved by a handsome drifter, but...there was something about Castiel that turned Dean head over heels.

A young woman rang up their groceries. She directed her smiles at Castiel and it took all of about two scanned items for her to crank up the charm. And poor Castiel, who didn’t have much experience with people, was getting wrapped up in her flirtations without even realizing it! Dean clenched his jaw; he didn’t like the odd jealous feeling that was rising in his chest.

“So,” she said, holding up the strange fruit with a grin, “What’s the occasion?”

Dean acted without thinking. “Our anniversary,” he said, wrapping his fingers in Castiel’s in a way that seemed even more purposeful than when they faked a marriage on a hunt. This was faking it for someone who didn’t even need to know. “We’re married,” Dean added.

To his surprise, Castiel leaned against him. “He’s my husband,” Castiel said, rather unnecessarily, but Dean’s heart leapt at the words. Shit, it was going to be a nightmare trying to disentangle himself from Castiel after everything was over.

Dean had taken the night off to spend it with Castiel; they’d both spent so long being jumpy about the hunt that they needed some fun downtime. And oh, what good downtime cooking together proved to be. If _inept_ in the bar Castiel was adorable, _inept in the kitchen_ Castiel was downright irresistible. He hacked at apples with growing frustration. “Can use a knife to kill a dozen different creatures,” he grumbled, “And somehow _apples_ are the pinnacle of my failure.”

“Hold on, tough guy,” Dean said, and before he could stop himself, he wrapped his arms around Castiel’s, adjusting his hand-hold on the knife, teaching him the motions necessary for getting uniform apple slices. This was, as far as Dean was concerned, how he could die. Castiel’s armes were _toned_ , his back was firm and Dean knew in a heartbeat that he could stay in this pseudo-embrace forever.

“I think I need more help,” Castiel said lowly as Dean walked him through one apple. Dean’s heart skipped a beat. Was this Castiel making a move? Or was he simply worried about the quality of apple slices? Dean’s mind raced as he helped Castiel cut the remaining three apples. By the fourth apple it really felt like overkill but Dean couldn’t let go of Castiel’s hand now.

Once the apples were cut, neither of them moved.

“We, uh, we should get the rest of the pie started.”

“We should,” Castiel agreed, but he didn’t move. “Living with you…” Castiel said, setting the knife down, “It’s been the best month of my life.”

“Ditto,” Dean murmured, hardly able to speak.

“But my people skills are still rusty,” Castiel whispered, “And I can’t...I can’t tell where our ruse ends.”

“Where do you want it to end?”

“With your lips on mine.”

Dean let go. Had he heard that right? Surely Castiel wasn’t saying what Dean thought he was saying. Castiel turned around, to face Dean, beet red.

“I knew it,” Castiel muttered, running a hand through his hair, “I knew you didn’t want that. Stupid, blunt, _assbutt_ ,” he mumbled, a self condemnation that Dean was fairly certain was not meant to be vocalized. Castiel looked up at Dean, distraught, “You took me in out of the kindness of your heart and I apologize that I have come on too strong–”

Dean couldn’t hear the rest of Castiel’s apology, his racing thoughts seemed to drown out everything else. Cas wanted to kiss him. _Cas wanted to kiss him!_

“I want that too, assbutt,” Dean interrupted, leaning forward to press his lips to Castiel’s.

Castiel hummed, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist as he kissed back. Castiel’s lips were chapped and his kissing was slightly uncoordinated, but it was _Cas_ , and Dean was basically in Heaven. As they continued kissing, Dean fumbled with Castiel’s leather jacket, then his first layer of flannel, leaving a trail of clothes from the small kitchen to the futon.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I _met you_ ” Dean breathed, kissing Castiel’s bare neck as the two tumbled onto the old couch.

“Me too,” Cas whispered into Dean's ear before kissing it.

Oh damn, Castiel’s voice could get Dean worked up. He groaned happily as he pressed his weight against Castiel, they were going to have a better anniversary than Dean could have possibly hoped for--

“Dean!” A female voice echoed from downstairs. It was strained, scared. Charlie, from the sound of it.

Castiel jerked away, drawing a knife in one smooth motion. His cheeks were flushed, but his blue eyes were alert.

“Dean!” Charlie called again. It was a panicked, urgent call and Castiel was already scrambling to race out the door, barefoot and, by Castiel’s standards, basically naked. Dean raced after him, equally unprepared. He caught up with Castiel on the stairs, grabbing his wrist.

“We can’t go down with a knife out,” Dean said, “It might not warrant a knife and I don’t want you scarin’ customers.”

Castiel glowered, but lowered it, tucking the knife away. Still, he kept his hand close, no doubt ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The door from the stairs led outside, with a door to the kitchen nearby. Dean and Castiel entered quietly to find a terrified Garth cowering in behind a crate.

Screw scaring the customers. Something bigger than a smashed crate of beers was happening in Dean’s bar.

Dean grabbed the biggest knife they had from the kitchen (still, of course, just a kitchen knife) and Castiel drew his as they made their way into the actual bar. It was too early for most of the regulars to arrive, the few who had been in the bar seemed to have escaped. Dean stifled a gasp of horror as he caught sight of Charlie, blood trickling down her head as she lay slumped on the floor behind the bar. A man stood in the back of the bar, cloaked in shadow, Dean was only able to catch the back of his head.

Had the shape-shifters found them?

“Take care of her,” Castiel hissed, “I’ll take care of him.”

Dean nodded, falling to his knees to check Charlie’s pulse. She was still breathing, heart still pumping. Thank god. Dean wasn’t sure what he’d do if Charlie died. He already felt sick to his stomach about the fact she’d gotten hurt. They had been _so good_ about watching the bar, that was the whole point of faking the marriage, so of course it was the one day they took off that got people hurt.

“Not sure you’re supposed to be here,” Castiel growled.

“What the hell?” a similar voice asked.

Dean poked his head up to find, to his horror, a second Castiel. This one wore a stained trench coat and rumpled suit. It looked oddly familiar. Pushing away that horrifying thought, Dean scoffed, focusing instead on how out of place the guy looked. Good to know the monster version of Castiel wouldn’t live up to the original.

“Definitely sure you’re not supposed to be here,” Castiel surmised, charging at his doppleganger. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Castiel would save them, they’d get rid of the shape-shifter and...well...after that kiss, maybe Cas wouldn’t leave after all. They’d be safe.

Except Castiel didn’t get a hit in. Instead, the shifter’s eyes glowed, he raised a hand, and Castiel sailed into the wall with a groan.

“ _Cas_ !” Dean cried, making an adrenaline fueled leap over the bar. He raced to Castiel’s side, standing over him with his kitchen knife drawn. Not that could be much help against a shape-shifter–Dean wasn’t even expecting the telekinesis–but it was _something_.

The sight of Other Cas, however, rattled Dean to his core. Castiel had been slightly scary when he first met him, but he had nothing on the shape-shifter. Still, though his hands trembled, Dean leveled the kitchen knife at the shifter. “If you’re going to hurt him, you’ll have to go through me first.”

To Dean’s surprise, the shifter’s eyes widened. “ _Dean_ ,” the shifter gasped, “You’re here.”

Horrified, Dean glanced from the shifter to Castiel. “How the hell does he know my name?”

“Shifters don’t just take the form of someone they copied,” Castiel groaned, “They take their memories. Makes ‘em damn good manipulators.”

The shifter didn’t like that statement, he frowned, raising his hand again. “Shut up,” he muttered, using his powers to throw Castiel into the bar. This time, Castiel fell limp to the floor.

Dean reacted on instinct, racing forwards to plunge the knife into the shifter’s chest. It was a stupid, desperate move, but the shifter was distracted with Castiel so it _worked_. The blade sunk deep into the shifter, blood blossoming onto the white shirt. But to Dean’s horror, the shifter remained standing.

The shifter looked stunned. “But you know me,” he said almost petulantly, staring at Dean with the same intensity as Castiel did. “You _know me,_ Dean.”

If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say the monster sounded...sad.

Dean barked a shaky laugh. “I know _him_ ,” he said, cocking his head towards Castiel’s fallen form, “And you can’t use his face against me.”

He shoved the blade further into the shifter, desperately trying to ignore the expression on Not-Castiel’s face. Someone being killed should look scared, but the shifter looked downright heartbroken, blue eyes on the verge of tears.

“Dean... “ the shifter whispered, then vanished.

Dean’s knife fell to the floor with an _clang_. To his astonishment, the knife was totally clean, not a drop of blood. What’s more, the shifter seemed to have disappeared without a trace.

For a moment, Dean froze. Would the shifter appear somewhere else? Was it gone for good? When nothing attacked him, however, Dean abandoned the knife, rushing to Castiel’s side. “Cas?” he asked, relieved to see his chest rising and falling. When Castiel didn’t open his eyes, however, Dean cried again.

“What happened?” asked Charlie, hand to her head as she peered over the bar.

“Charlie,” Dean had all but forgotten her with the turn of events, “Are you–”

“–I’ve taken worse hits,” Charlie said, “I don’t think he was looking to hurt me.”

Dean scowled. “Sure doesn’t look that way to me.”

“I just don’t understand,” she said, squinting down at Castiel, “Why did he go all...creepy?”

Castiel would have been better at explaining it, but Dean tried, stumbling through a vague explanation of the supernatural, and shape-shifters in general, who not only had the power to take on new forms, but also throw people with their telekinetic abilities.

Charlie nodded slowly. “Huh.”

“Shouldn’t you be more rattled?” Dean asked, Castiel’s head in his lap. He stroked Castiel’s hair absentmindedly, hoping he would wake soon.

“Not really,” Charlie shrugged, “I’ve always figured there was something fishy going on with the bar attacks. Granted, I thought it was aliens, but...superpowered shape-shifters. That works too.”

At that moment, a siren sounded and police burst through the door. Garth, apparently, had managed to call 911. Paramedics checked on Castiel, assuring Dean he would be fine. They asked both Dean and Charlie for information on the suspect. Dean wasn’t sure what to tell them. He lied, blaming the attack on a random drunk stranger.

Dean sent Charlie and Garth home, closing the bar for the remainder of the night.

When Castiel awoke, he smiled at Dean. “You saved me,” he croaked, running his fingers along Dean’s five o’clock shadow.

“Guess I owed you one,” Dean said softly.

Eventually, once the police and paramedics left, Dean helped his barefoot boyfriend (was Castiel his boyfriend?) up the stairs to the apartment. “Think you deserve the bed tonight,” Dean said, “Given the injuries and all.”

Castiel nodded, making his way into the bedroom. For the first time, he stripped down to his boxers in front of Dean. Immediately, Dean was struck by two things. First, and most obvious, Castiel was even more toned than he felt. Dean itched to run his hands down Castiel’s chest, along his huge arms, pressing kisses to his thighs…

Nope. They weren’t doing that now. Their...whatever their relationship was, it was too new. Besides, the second thing Dean noticed were the injuries. Bruises mottled Castiel’s skin, in various stages of healing, and then there were the scars, a history of hunting etched into Castiel’s body.

Castiel caught Dean’s eye, then looked away. “I am...broken,” he muttered, reaching desperately for his undershirt.

Dean caught his wrist, pressing a kiss to his hand. “You’re _perfect_ ,” Dean breathed. “All of you.”

The hunter’s breath hitched. “Share the bed with me,” he whispered firmly. Not a request. A command. Dean stripped to his boxers too and for a moment, they stared at each other. Then Castiel pulled them into a kiss, tugging Dean to bed.

When Dean eventually fell asleep, it was wrapped tight in Castiel’s embrace.

That night, Dean dreamed of Castiel. It was the same dream as the night before, though Dean now felt dismayed when he realized it was the trenchcoat clad Castiel in the passenger seat. Dean raced the Impala down dark, empty stretches of highway, once again pursued by the winged creatures. Unlike _his_ Castiel, this version of Cas didn’t touch him. Instead, the car was filled with a sharp sense of _longing_ , as though the small act of taking Dean’s hand would take multitudes of strength to accomplish.

And yet it still felt like home.

That was the strange part, the bit Dean couldn’t fathom. This version of Castiel wasn’t real, it was a bizarre copy of the shape-shifter, holding onto what felt like a decade of pining. In no way should the dream feel comforting. But the more Dean kept glancing at the strange doppelganger, the more familiar he grew.

Eventually, Castiel caught his eye. Dean found he couldn’t look away. Castiel reached out, as though to stroke Dean’s cheek, though his hand froze midair and he slowly pulled it away. “Dean,” Castiel’s voice rumbled and Dean felt his heart leap in his chest. “I am sorry.”

Dean awoke. To Dean’s surprise, his eyes were filled with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fantastic artwork courtesy of [usearechan](https://usarechan.tumblr.com)!


	4. Hot Boyfriend

Dean didn’t know what changed, but when he glanced over at the gorgeous man in his bed, something seemed...off.

True, Dean’s heart still sang as Castiel woke up and smiled sleepily at him, and the joy caught in his throat as Castiel pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. It was, objectively, everything Dean ever wanted. And yet, between the dream and facing the shifter the night before, something seemed wrong. 

“Are you okay, husband?” Castiel asked, voice rough from sleep as he pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck. “You seem...troubled.”

Dean hummed. If he spoke up, he’d admit the shifter had him rattled, which wasn’t fair to Cas. Besides, he liked the feeling of Castiel’s lips against his skin. “It’s nothing,” Dean murmured, running his fingertips along a scar on Castiel’s chest.

“Bullshit,” Castiel nipped at Dean’s earlobe. Dean squeaked in pleasure. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Can’t we just do...this?” Dean caught Castiel’s jaw in his hand, kissing him on the mouth. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend nothing had changed.

“Was it the hunt?” Castiel pressed as he pulled away.

“It’s nothing,” Dean curled his fingers around Castiel’s wrist, trying to gently pull Castiel back under the covers, but the hunter sat up. “Come back to bed?” Dean begged.

“You’re looking at me differently,” Castiel glanced down at the comforter with a frown, “Can you honestly say this...what we’re doing...isn’t just a distraction?”

“It’s a pleasant distraction.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Castiel got out of bed, tugging on his jeans. Dean followed him, kicking off the covers as he stood up. “Cas, c’mon, it’s nothing.”

“You’re avoiding eye contact, Dean! It’s like after the adrenaline wore off, it hit you that  _ he looked like me _ .” 

“I,” Dean faltered, “Okay, I was rattled. Who wouldn’t be? He had your face, Cas. And he…” Dean shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the memory of the heartbroken expression Dean had caught sight of before the shifter disappeared, “He tried to manipulate me.”

“How?”

“He...I dunno. Acted like he missed me. He acted like you and I still…” Dean hung his head, “I still stabbed him.”

The stabbing, oddly, wasn’t the reason Dean looked at Castiel differently. He knew it should play a reasonably large role. After all, he’d stabbed a man who looked just like someone he cared about. Hell, Dean had stabbed him point blank, he hadn’t even faltered. But, to Dean’s confusion, as the panic of the situation wore off, he found he felt guilty not for stabbing someone who looked like Castiel, but for stabbing that  _ particular _ iteration of Cas.

That shifter really was a master manipulator.

Castiel tugged a shirt on. “So you think of me as a monster too?”

“No!” Dean cried, “It’s not like that.”

With a sigh, Castiel sat on the bed, burying his face in his hands. “I wasn’t supposed to get so attached,” he mumbled, “It wasn’t supposed to matter if you saw me like that.”

Dean sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “I wasn’t supposed to get attached either,” Dean admitted, “But I’m glad I did.”

He pressed a kiss to Castiel’s cheek and the hunter smiled slightly. But as much as Dean didn’t want to face it, the strange feeling of  _ not quite right _ still lingered, Castiel feeling ever so slightly out of place. Maybe it was the fight with the doppelganger. Maybe it was the strange dream.

Maybe coffee would help.

After starting coffee, Dean decided a breakfast would help more. He started with eggs, but quickly expanded breakfast to include hash-browns and bacon. Maybe if he kept himself busy, he wouldn’t think about the encounter and things could go back to the way they were. He had feelings for Castiel, after all. And, even more insane, those feelings were reciprocated. It would be ridiculous to throw those away after several minutes with a monsterous imposter and a strange dream.

“Our feast is ready,” Dean announced, sliding a plate loaded with food in front of Castiel.

Castiel didn’t say anything. 

Dean tried to watch him, he did, but it was hard. Castiel’s theory might be more accurate than Dean wanted to admit: in the heat of the moment, it was easy to tumble into Castiel’s arms. But now, with a night of rest and some time to reflect, there was something about Castiel that wasn’t...well, Dean couldn’t seem to put his finger on it. The want for Castiel was real. He still felt like he’d known Castiel for forever...and yet when Dean looked at Castiel, he seemed miles away.

“Maybe the shape-shifter cast a spell,” Dean suggested, staring down at his eggs.

“That’s not in the abilities of a shifter.”

“Well, it did disappear,” Dean replied, crunching into his bacon, “You didn’t tell me about that either.”

Castiel’s fork fell to the floor with a clatter. “It  _ what? _ ”

“Yeah, I stabbed it and it just, y’know,” Dean shrugged, “Disappeared.”

“No, Dean. I  _ don’t _ know,” Castiel pushed to standing, abandoning his breakfast, “Shape-shifters don’t disappear in thin air.”

“Maybe it’s a super powerful shifter?”

“Or it could be something else entirely,” Castiel groaned, “I cannot believe I have gotten so distracted!” He wheeled around on Dean, “ _ You _ have distracted me! And for what? To run away at the first sign of danger?”

“What?” Dean frowned, setting down his fork, “Cas, I ran at a supernatural creature for you.”

“And now you can’t even look at me!” Castiel ran a hand through his hair. “I have to...I have to research alone.”

He grabbed his shoes and jacket before Dean could stop him, the apartment door slamming behind him. Dean cried out in frustration, kicking his own boot. Perfect. It was just like him to fuck up a perfectly fine relationship. He debated about chasing after Castiel, but eventually settled on eating breakfast. 

Dean Winchester was not the kind of guy to chase after someone who didn’t want to be found.

Still, that didn’t stop him from moping. After a month of being side-by-side with Castiel, waist deep in fake marriage, to have Castiel storm out was...well, it stung, to say the least. And clearly Dean’s fault, which didn’t help. With no sign of Castiel, Dean helped himself to a good, old fashioned Winchester cure: whiskey in the morning.

He tugged out his laptop, downing a gulp of whiskey as he dug into the case. If shape-shifters didn’t disappear, he could find whatever did. And, more importantly, Dean could figure out if there was a cure to whatever was throwing off his feelings towards Castiel. He’d come too far, pined too long to lose him now.

A couple hours later, Dean had given up on the search. He wasn’t good at researching supernatural creatures yet, everything he found quickly turned out to be a dead end. He slipped into binge-watching some crap soap opera that he’d started with Castiel a couple weeks ago–Dean couldn’t believe a guy as hardened and badass as Castiel could get sucked into a soap opera–when he heard the sound of footsteps up the stairs. Dean sat up with a loud sigh of relief. Castiel was coming back. 

As Dean opened his mouth to apologize, however, someone else walked through the door.

_ Sam _ .

Dark circles ran under his eyes and he sported the beginnings of a beard, a look that was oddly out of character for Dean’s brother. These days, Sam usually looked so put together, with slicked back hair, sleek glasses and tailored suits, but today his hair was unkempt and he’d swapped out a suit for jeans and a flannel. Sam’s breath hitched in his throat as he caught sight of Dean and he pulled Dean into a tight hug.

“You’re okay,” Sam gasped, tucking his chin into the nape of Dean’s neck. 

“Did you hear about the attack already?” Dean asked, though slightly confused. In the back of his head, Dean knew it seemed strange that Sam would arrive less than 24 hours before the bar fight. Still, why else would Sam leave his job and family on such short notice? So, as far as Dean could tell, Sam had somehow heard Dean’s bar had been attacked and, for some reason, rather than call, he’d opted to fly across the country to check on Dean in person.

“Attacked?” Sam pulled away, surveying Dean. “What hurt you?”

“Oh, you’re gonna want to be sitting down for this one,” Dean said, leaving to pour Sam a glass of whiskey. He poured himself another glass for good measure, gesturing for Sam to sit at the counter. Sam followed, tentatively, downing the whiskey.

“There’s...monsters,” Dean said, “Like, the sort of monsters you’d hear about in stories. Ghosts, werewolves, that sort of thing. Except they’re  _ real _ , Sam.”

He sat back, waiting for Sam to react. Dean wasn’t entirely sure how Sam would take the news, disbelief, maybe, or perhaps annoyance at Dean’s early morning drinking (which explained his insane statements). But Sam just cocked his head, pouring himself another drink. 

“Really? That’s your only reaction?” Dean asked, “I told you  _ monsters are real _ .”

“I know,” Sam swished the whiskey in the glass, glancing worriedly at Dean. “I’m just...thinking.”

That wasn’t the reaction Dean expected. Then again, the morning seemed to be filled with disappointing discoveries. “Since when have you known about monsters?” Dean asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Since you’ve known about them?”

“A month?” Dean barked a laugh, trying to ignore the sense that something wasn’t adding up. It was just Sam. “Did you also make a hot hunter friend?” 

Dean hoped Sam wouldn’t notice his Freudian slip, but Sam’s eyebrows raised. “You think Cas is hot?” Sam asked, the strains of good-natured sibling teasing in his voice.

The out of place feeling intensified.

Sam didn’t  _ know _ about Cas. Dean hadn’t told him (he wasn’t about to tell his successful lawyer brother that he was faking a marriage with a random drifter) and Dean knew his name hadn’t come up in the news. What’s more, even if Sam  _ had _ been able to figure out Castiel’s identity, he sure as hell shouldn’t be implying there was anything between Dean and Cas.

Fear filled Dean’s chest.

Dean took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Whoever this was, no matter how much it felt like his brother, the person sitting next to him _wasn’t_ _Sam_. Maybe it was a shifter, though how they’d managed to find his brother (or why) Dean had no clue. 

Sam seemed to sense his shift in mood, because his smile dropped. “Dean, I need you to stay with me,” he said quietly, “I need you to listen.”

“I’m not listening to you,” Dean growled, “I know what you are.”

“What?” 

“You’re a shifter!” Dean shouted, pushing out of his chair. He wasn’t sure what to do, but Dean had to be ready to fight. 

“I’m your  _ brother! _ ” Sam cried, “Can’t you see that?”

“My  _ brother _ ,” Dean snapped, “Is a lawyer in California. Married to Jess, has two kids named Mary and John. My brother’s not some scruffy asshole breaking into my house!”

“Are you sure about that?” Sam said, “Dean, look at me and tell me you don’t see me.”

Dean stopped and stared. It was true, this Sam seemed...familiar. And yet he was so different from any memories Dean had of his brother. This didn’t look like the Sam who went to Stanford or threw a lavish wedding. He felt as though he knew this man, but didn’t know him at all. The sensation wasn’t unlike how he felt about Cas. 

It wasn’t pleasant.

“Stop it,” Dean muttered, looking away, “Stop...whatever you’re doing.”

“Dean, please,” Sam begged, “We can’t take you until you remember.”

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” a deep voice called from the doorway and Dean practically melted in relief.

“ _ Castiel _ ,” Dean gasped. 

Sam swiveled, catching a good look at Dean’s incoming savior with a frown. “That’s not Cas, Dean.”

As Castiel raced towards Sam, Sam reached for Dean’s shirt, grabbing onto the hem. “Dean, please,” Sam said, “ _ You need to remember _ .”

And then he was gone, vanishing like the last shifter had as Castiel’s blade pierced his chest. 

“They’ve been looking for  _ you _ ,” Castiel whispered, staring at Dean with a stunned expression, “They’re coming back for you.”

“Do you have any idea why?” Dean asked.

“Do  _ you? _ ” Castiel tucked his knife away, but he moved no closer to Dean.

“Why would I?” Dean’s hand twitched. He was itching to grasp Castiel’s in his, but the air was tense. Conflicted. “Before you came into my life, I didn’t even know that monsters existed!”

“I just...I don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t want to lose you, Dean!” Castiel cried. Dean ignored the lingering sensation of strangeness that still existed around Castiel and tugged him into a tight hug. Regardless of the oddness, Dean couldn’t bear to see him sad.

“You won’t,” Dean whispered, cupping Castiel’s cheek in his palm.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel’s lips and Castiel relaxed. Shifting his hands, Dean wrapped them around Castiel’s waist, catching at the small of his back. As they kissed, Castiel wove his fingers through Dean’s hair, kissing with a sort of desperation, as though he really feared he’d never see Dean again. 

Dean tried harder to ignore the odd confusion that lingered when he thought of Cas, instead murmuring promises between kisses. Whatever the shifters were, they’d find a way to stop them. Dean was sure of it. And then Dean could go back to his life, complete with a new and wonderful boyfriend. 

The night was subdued. Dean closed the bar, after everything his employees had been through, they deserved a night off. And Dean certainly needed a night to figure out what his next move was. He stayed by Castiel’s side while he researched. They ordered Chinese food, watched an old western on TV and barely spoke. Castiel was still rattled, Dean surmised. Not that he could blame him, Dean was still rattled too. 

He held Castiel close when they fell asleep together in Dean’s bed.

For the third time, Dean dreamed of the Impala, only this time, Dean was in the back seat. He peered out the window to find that in place of the mysterious winged creature that had pursued him in earlier dreams, there was only darkness. No wilderness, no road, just nothingness. In a way, the emptiness was more frightening than the foe.

“I don’t understand, I thought we saved him.” Sam’s voice caught Dean’s attention. In the driver’s seat sat Sam, the shifter version of Sam, with dark circles and the start of a beard. Next to him sat the shifter version of Castiel, looking equally haggard in his old trench coat. Tired, but familiar in a way Dean couldn’t quite explain.

“We banished Michael,” Castiel replied. “That’s different.” Dean frowned. The name Michael sounded familiar, but Dean couldn’t quite place it. He didn’t think he knew any Michaels. At least, none that made Dean’s blood run cold at the sound of the name. Michael... _ Michael... _

For a moment, it felt like Dean was drowning. Plummeting down into the depths of the sea, his family out of reach, darkness closing around him. Dean felt a primal fear, urgency and then an almost cloying sense of peace. He shook his head, trying to focus on the scene at hand. 

Dean opened his mouth. He wanted to say something, anything, though the words couldn’t seem to come out. The front of the car began to dissolve, Sam and Castiel disappearing and Dean reached, catching Castiel’s hand for an instant–

–the blaring of Dean’s alarm ripped Dean away from the dream and into the real world, where Dean could feel the weight of Castiel against his chest.

“Turn it off,” Cas mumbled and Dean fumbled for the alarm, trying to make sense of the already fading dream. All that was left was the intense sensation of loss, as though something important had been ripped from him. 

Dean silenced the alarm, lowering back into bed as Castiel pressed a kiss to his bare back. “At least there’s something wonderful to wake up to,” Cas whispered, running his hands along Dean’s skin as he kissed him again. Dean allowed himself to forget about the nostalgia as he turned to crash his lips against Castiel’s. 

An odd whooshing sound caught Dean’s attention, but he ignored it as he continued kissing Castiel. There were so many conflicting emotions surrounding the kiss, that awful sense of  _ not-quite-right _ still permeating the thing Dean wanted.  “Cas,” Dean mumbled.

“ _ Dean _ ,” a familiar voice croaked and Dean deepened the kiss before it hit him. The voice had come from  _ in front _ of the bed. 

Heart pounding, Dean pulled away from Castiel to find Other Cas, the one with the awkward trench coat, staring at him with that same heartbroken expression from the night before. Looking into his eyes, Dean felt a memory of the dream surface.

_ I thought we saved him. _

“Cas?” Dean asked tentatively.

“That’s not me,” Castiel growled next to him, stumbling out of bed and whipping out his knife from under the pillow. Dean sat up and caught his shoulder.

“Wait,” he said, looking back at Other Cas, “Please.”

Other Cas raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He opened his mouth, but the words didn’t seem to come and he had to take a deep breath to compose himself. He looked  _ so familiar _ , and yet Dean couldn’t put his finger on why. It wasn’t just the face, it was the movements, the expressions, ones that didn’t  _ quite _ match the Castiel he knew, but Dean still found he recognized. Finally, Other Cas spoke. “You’re happy,” he said, “I came with a whole speech prepared but...you’re  _ happy _ here.”

“Damn right he is,” Castiel retorted, “Does this mean you creeps are gonna leave him alone?”

Other Cas caught Dean’s gaze and the world seemed to fall away. Though he didn’t understand how, Dean knew those blue eyes. Deep down, Dean suspected he’d known them for much longer than the month he’d spent with Castiel. “How do I know you?” Dean blurted out.

Castiel scoffed. “He’s  _ wearing my face! _ ”

“How do I know you?” Dean repeated, letting go of Castiel to try to walk towards the doppelganger. This time, Castiel caught his shoulder. Dean allowed himself to be stopped short, though he was still close enough to touch Other Cas. 

Other Cas just stared at Dean. “If I tell you, it might change things here.”

“You’ve already changed my life,” Dean said, glancing back to see a flash of hurt cross Castiel’s face. As much as Dean didn’t want to admit it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look at Castiel quite the same. At least now he could have some sort of explanation for why. “Tell me.”

“Sam says you don’t remember,” Other Cas whispered, “If you make a lie, best to imbue it with some truth. I–I had a whole speech prepared but seeing you…” he gestured to Castiel, “I don’t know what to say other than I fell for you. I care for you. I–” Other Cas caught sight of Castiel again. He shut his mouth, shaking his head, “It doesn’t matter. If you are happy here, who am I to take it from you?”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Other Cas sighed. “Dean Winchester, I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. I thought that’s why I came here, to do it again. But this...it’s not perdition.”

Somewhere deep inside Dean, a memory stirred. It had been buried so far down that Dean hadn’t even been aware of it. Or maybe he had but chosen to forget. This other life, the one with a haggard Sam and this sad Castiel, seemed much harder than owning a bar on the outskirts of Austin. And yet. It seemed...real.

“Dean, please tell me you aren’t considering this!” Castiel said, reaching out at last to turn Dean’s gaze towards him. 

“I think I know him,” Dean whispered, nodding his head towards the shape-shifter. The words sounded crazy when he said them aloud, but in his heart...Dean  _ knew _ . 

“You know  _ me _ ,” Castiel retorted, “You know  _ us _ . What is he promising? Will he be there for you like I am? Will he kiss you like I do?”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Other Cas asked, as though he had never considered the thought.

“Yes,” Dean was shocked by his knee-jerk reaction. He shook his head, “I mean, no. I mean…” He looked from Castiel to Other Castiel, feeling torn in two. “I don’t know!”

“Look what you’re doing to him!” Castiel cried, waving his knife at his doppelganger, “If you care for him, why did you come back? Why are you doing this?”

Other Castiel’s shoulders dropped and he hung his head and for a moment he looked small, vulnerable. He reached for Dean hesitantly, but pulled his hand away at the last second. “You’re right,” he said finally, “I have no right to make Dean miserable.” 

He stepped forward, so close their chests were almost touching. “I want you to be happy, Dean. If you want, I can bring you home, or...” Other Castiel’s eyes squeezed shut at those words, “I can make you forget I ever came. You can go back to your life, your...” he trailed off.

“His  _ husband _ ,” Castiel finished, proudly. 

But Castiel wasn’t his husband. 

The marriage was fake. Whatever came after it might have been real, but it was based on a lie. A lie...or a wish. Unbidden, Dean’s wishes rose in his chest. Wishes for Sam to live a normal life, to have a wife and a career. Wishes for Castiel to not have the baggage, the complications that came from being an angel. (An angel? Was Castiel really an angel? The thought sounded crazy. ) Whatever life Other Castiel was referencing, Dean might not be able to remember much, but he could recall his desires from it.

Desires that had all come true.

What was it Castiel had said? Something about selling a lie with small truths? Dean was starting to get the feeling his entire existence was something similar, some sort of lie woven with tiny truths and deep desires. But Dean couldn’t put his finger on what happening, and if he was wrong...it meant abandoning Castiel. 

“What do you two want?” Dean asked, looking between the Castiels, “What do you want me do?”

Castiel took Dean’s hand in his own, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. “I want you  _ here _ ,” he whispered, “With me. We’ve only just started to explore this…”

Other Castiel looked pained at the shows of affection. He didn’t say anything, but Dean could see his heart practically painted on his sleeves. Other Castiel offered Dean a sad smile. “I just want you to be happy, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t ignore that sincerity. Even if he couldn’t remember the details behind how he knew this Castiel, or where their home was, or even what his life looked like...the feeling was so familiar Dean felt like he’d known it his whole life. Not a spell, not a trick, not even a wish. Other Castiel’s sincere desire for Dean’s happiness was something offered unconditionally. 

Turning to face Castiel, Dean stroked his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to kiss Castiel again. It a shame, really. 

A tear trickled down Castiel’s cheek. “Don’t do this, Dean. He’s lying!”

“I don’t think he is,” Dean pressed one final kiss to Castiel’s forehead before letting go of his hand. 

Castiel grabbed it again. “Dean, what if you’re wrong? You have a good life here. You have friends, a bar, me...isn’t that enough?”

“What if it isn’t real?”

“So what? It’s real to  _ us! _ ”

Dean glanced from Castiel to the Other Cas. “I’m sorry, but I have to go with him,” Dean whispered, pulling his hand out of Castiel’s. 

Trying not to cry, Dean turned to face Other Castiel. Out of habit, Dean smoothed Castiel’s rumpled trench coat collar, relishing the familiarity that came even from such a simple gesture. Feeling slightly bold, Dean gripped the trench coat with both hands, their chests practically touching as he stared up at Castiel. 

“Take me home, Cas.”


	5. Hot Husband

When Dean awoke, he was not in his normal bed. Gone was his small, but brightly lit, Austin apartment, instead Dean was in some cold bedroom decorated with guns and a record player. A bedroom that looked more and more familiar with every waking moment. Dean wasn’t in Austin, he was  _ home _ . 

How long had he been away from the Bunker?

As Dean stared up at his familiar ceiling, he tried to remember everything that had happened. Wherever he’d been, he’d owned a bar, fallen for another version of Cas,  _ made out with another version of Cas _ ...and Cas, the real Cas, oh god. He’d seen. He  _ knew _ . 

Dean had really messed that up. He pushed past all of it, ignoring the emotions that arose at the thought of  _ getting to kiss Cas _ , and tried to focus on what came before the alternate reality. The bar was all Dean could think of, it felt like he’d somehow spent an eternity working at that bar, but he kept pushing, reaching into the far corners of his mind to find...Michael.

Michael, who forced his way back into Dean’s body and shoved Dean down, down, down. Weaving lies with wishes and truths to create the perfect prison for Dean: the sort he’d never want to leave and never think he had any reason to. The rumor of shifters? Must have been Sam and Cas, trying desperately to find Dean within the elaborate maze Michael had constructed. 

In a panic, Dean reached out, trying to figure out if Michael was still there. To his relief, Dean couldn’t feel any traces of the archangel. Michael seemed to be gone for good. Another problem he’d just left for Sam and Cas to figure out. Dean rubbed his eyes with his palms, ashamed of how he hadn’t even picked up on the fact he was locked away. Worse, even though Dean was glad to be home, he sort of missed the fantasy. He missed the simplicity, the assurance that his loved ones were fine...and as much as Dean hated to admit it, he missed being in a relationship with Cas.

The fake husband thing might have been difficult in some regards, but it had gotten Dean entirely too accustomed to holding Castiel’s hand at a moment’s notice. 

As the door creaked open, Dean sat up. Sam peered in nervously. “I can, uh, come back later if you want,” Sam said.

Dean leapt out of bed to pull his brother into a tight hug. He hadn’t missed his brother, per se, but given how Sam didn’t try to end the embrace, Sam had certainly missed Dean. “I’m sorry,” Dean mumbled. After all, he wasn’t even strong enough to escape his own illusion.

“Don’t be,” Sam finally let go. “You were at peace.”

Dean scoffed. “That should have been the first tip that something was wrong.”

“You were buried pretty deep in your mind.”

“Pretty deep?” Dean sat back onto his bed, “Sam, I got everything I ever wanted and I didn’t even question it.”

“Everything?”

“With you…” Dean hesitated, before adding, “...and Cas.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean couldn’t help but wonder what, if anything, Castiel had told him about what he’d seen. “So, why come back?”

Dean shrugged. “You guys are real.”

“And you don’t mind that your life isn’t perfect?”

“I’m sad you didn’t get a white picket fence life,” Dean admitted, “And it was cool owning a bar, but you’re my family. I’d give anything up for that.” 

Including romantic love.

Sam nodded. “Well, there’s coffee in the kitchen if you want some,” he said as he left the room, pausing in the doorway. “And, you know,” Sam hesitated, “You might not have to give it all up here.”

Before Dean could ask anything, however, Sam was gone. Although he wanted to ask what Sam meant, if it really was about what Dean thought he meant, Dean also didn’t want to hope. Hope was what had gotten him wrapped up in that make-believe world in the first place. Castiel falling in love with Dean was as likely as Sam becoming a lawyer or Dean owning a bar. 

Besides, even if Castiel didn’t love Dean like that, he still cared for Dean. That would be enough, right?

Either way, no point in moping in his bedroom (though the option was tempting). Dean made his way to the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with Sam, Cas and Jack, who all sat around the table and hushed their conversation as they caught sight of Dean. Dean stifled a groan. Nothing like knowing he was clearly the subject of their gossip to brighten his first morning back.

“I’ve got some...research,” Sam said finally. He nudged Jack. “Jack, you said you’d help, right?”

Jack nodded eagerly. They pushed past Dean, though Jack stopped, running back to pull Dean into a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re back,” Jack said before Dean could react. 

“Jack?” Sam called, prompting Jack to let go. Dean hated to admit he missed the kid, but he did. 

It didn’t help that when Sam and Jack left the kitchen, they seemed to have taken all the air with them. Dean could barely breathe as he looked at Castiel. He wasn’t wearing a trench coat now, just a partially buttoned dress shirt, and Dean hated that he was already starting to compare him to the fantasy. 

Not that Castiel looked bad in a dress shirt...but he’d looked damn good in typical Winchester flannel. 

Dean caught himself staring, which was made even more awkward by the fact Castiel hadn’t even looked up at him. He stared down at his coffee like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. Not that Dean could blame Cas; the guy had walked in on Dean making out with a fantasy version of himself. 

Unsure of what to say, Dean poured himself a cup of coffee, opting to stand by the counter. They drank in silence, Castiel pointedly avoiding eye contact with Dean. Ouch. Maybe Castiel didn’t like him after all. Maybe Dean’s fantastical transgression was enough to push Castiel from the realm of friendship to disdain. Not that Dean could blame him. He’d basically admitted to having a massive crush on Cas. 

Dean had gone years keeping his feelings under wraps and managed to mess it up in one giant hallucination.

Finally, though, the silence grew too much. Dean caved. “I think I’m gonna make some eggs. You want some?”

“I don’t eat,” Castiel replied.

Not the reaction Dean wanted. “Actually,” Dean tried to backtrack, “I just remembered I’m not hungry.” He abandoned his half-empty coffee mug as he practically ran out of the kitchen, absolutely mortified. 

The next few days posed a new challenge: avoiding Castiel.

It was awful, of course, being far away from Cas. Dean had spent weeks in close quarters with him, to go from romantic intimacy to  _ nothing _ was abysmal. But it was clearly what Castiel wanted, the guy was obviously rattled by Dean’s lust. So Dean avoided him. He ate at strange hours, went on long drives, ran all the errands and managed to duck out of most conversations.

When he wasn’t actively trying to not run into Castiel, Dean worked on figuring out what had happened to him. He knew Michael had taken control, but what the archangel had done while wearing Dean as a meat suit was questionable. Sam wasn’t particularly forthcoming, but Jack, well, all Dean needed to loosen his tongue was a dozen donuts. 

The bad news: Michael had caused a lot of deaths. The good news, though, was that neither Sam or Cas were too badly hurt when they finally confronted him.

“We got Michael out,” Jack whispered in between bites of a heavily sprinkled donut, “But you were...uh, I think the word Sam used was comatose?”

“Sounds about right,” Dean rubbed his head. That explained the dreams of being pursued by a winged creature. Michael was, in all iterations, downright terrifying. 

“He’d locked you away. And every night, Sam and Cas would enter your mind to find you but it was hard. They couldn’t find you.”

All those references of shifters. That had been Sam and Cas, searching tirelessly for Dean. Dean felt a pang of guilt. What would things have been like if they’d found him sooner? If they’d found him before he found Cas?

“When they found out you were happy, nobody knew what to do,” Jack added, reaching for another donut, “In fact,” he lowered his voice, “I think Cas still feels bad.”

“About what?”

Jack shrugged. “He thinks you’re upset he tore you out of your happy place and he’s certain you were avoiding him. I said you were just busy,” he added, looking to Dean for approval. 

“I’m not upset.”

“That’s what I said!” Jack replied with a grin. His face fell slightly, “But I think Cas still feels bad.”

The last thing Dean wanted was to make Cas feel worse.

“I’ve got something I need to do,” Dean said, handing the whole box of donuts to Jack. Castiel had saved him; if he hadn’t, Dean would still be a vegetable. Sure, the fantasy was fun, but it wasn’t real. There was a reason Dean followed Castiel home. 

Dean found Castiel in the library, an old book tucked under his arm, another in his hand as he searched the shelves. Unsure what to do, Dean cleared his throat. Castiel turned, dropping a book in surprise. “Dean!” Castiel said scrambling to pick the book up, “I can go somewhere else.”

“Actually,” Dean scratched his neck, “I was wondering if you wanted…” he paused, clearing his throat, “There’s a hunt Wyoming, I thought we could...do.”

“I think you’ll do well with Sam,” Cas mumbled.

“Nah, I was thinking...just you and me?”

The silence was palpable. 

“Just us?” Castiel said finally.

“Yeah,” Dean shook his head, “I mean, if you want.”

Another silence fell. Finally, Castiel set his books down on the table. “I mean, I can go if you…” Castiel paused, “If you need a hand.”

The drive was uncomfortable. Castiel didn’t talk, for one, and Dean was more than a little tempted to try holding his hand out of habit. He hated that, of everything in the fantasy, the one thing Dean wanted to take with him was what developed between him and the other Castiel. He didn’t even want Other Castiel, Dean wanted all that with  _ his _ Cas. He wanted to admire the tattoos he knew his Cas had, he wanted to pull him in by his tie and kiss him senseless, he wanted...well, Dean wanted a lot of things.

And now, for better or worse, Cas knew Dean wanted them too.

“Why’d you bring me on the hunt?” Castiel asked as they passed the Welcome to Colorado sign, “You know my grace is waning.”

Dean was tempted to lie, but he found he was tired of pretending. “I missed you.”

“Oh,” Castiel sat quietly for a minute before adding, “I missed you too.”

God, Dean wanted to take his hand. 

Instead, he turned up the radio. As he drove, Dean couldn’t help but get an idea, the sort of idea that could end badly or very well, depending. Probably  _ not _ the sort of idea to drop all the way in Wyoming, but then again...there probably wasn’t a good time for it. By the time they made it to the motel, Dean’s heart was pounding at the thought.

When they parked, Dean sat still. Castiel, half out of the Impala, froze, then slowly made his way back into the car. “I was thinking about how we could approach the case,” Dean said slowly, glancing over at Castiel to gauge his reaction.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, see,” Dean didn’t know how to open this, he was already in so far over his head. But another glance at Castiel’s concerned expression and, well, Dean’s heart melted. “I know we usually do FBI, but when I was in Austin, uh, I mean...the dream...we used a different tactic.”

“Oh?”

“We don’t have to do it,” Dean clenched the steering wheel as though it was the only thing keeping him from flying out of orbit. His heart was racing like crazy now.

“Do what, Dean?”

“When I was...there,” Dean murmured, “We did, we pretended we were…” he took a deep gulp of air, drawing in the courage to face Castiel, “Fake husbands.”

“ _ Oh _ .”

Castiel’s expression was inscrutable. Dean’s heart pounded like crazy, but he was this far into the query. Couldn’t stop now. If Castiel didn’t want to, well, it wouldn’t be much worse than Castiel stumbling on Dean kissing his doppelganger to begin with. “We don’t have to–” Dean said instead.

“–what would faking a marriage entail?” Castiel asked instead, not breaking eye contact with Dean.

“Well…” Dean lifted a trembling hand to interlace his fingers with Castiel’s, “It would involve this…”

Castiel hummed in response, giving Dean’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“And we might, uh, sit closer together than usual,” Dean added, scooting closer to Castiel. Their shoulders bumped. Castiel still watched him earnestly. “And, uh, if we have to, we could...y’know…” Dean leaned forward to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek, but Castiel turned his head at the last minute.

Dean’s lips landed on Castiel’s mouth.

It was wonderful and terrifying at the same time, Castiel’s lips were chapped but his kiss was soft and, oh god, he’d accidentally  _ kissed Castiel _ . Dean jerked away. “I’m so sorry!” he cried, “I don’t know what I was thinking, I knew you probably didn’t want this–”

Castiel caught his hand. “What if I did?” he asked firmly, “What if I’ve always wanted this?”

Dean’s breath hitched. “Have you?” 

“Since I pulled you out of hell,” Castiel confessed, leaning even closer to Dean, his nose brushing against Dean’s. “The angels said I fell the moment I laid hold of you...and they were right. I have fallen for you in every way, Dean Winchester,” he whispered, lips ghosting against Dean’s.

“But the fantasy...you avoided me...” Dean said, unable to bring himself to bridge the infinitesimal gap between them, “I thought you didn’t want…”

“I thought  _ you _ didn’t want,” Castiel breathed, “That you wanted a better version of me…”

Dean pressed his lips against Castiel’s again, reaching up a hand to gently caress Castiel’s cheek. “You  _ are _ the better version, angel,” Dean whispered and oh, if he hadn’t believed it before, the sunshine smile that crossed Castiel’s face would have been proof enough that Dean had chosen the right place to be. 

Faking a marriage with the other Castiel had been hard at times, but faking a marriage with his Castiel was effortless. It felt like they moved in unison, Castiel stepping in to compensate for Dean’s shortcomings and vice versa. The hunt went flawlessly, a simple salt and burn, finished in the course of an afternoon. 

Dinner and the drinks that followed were equally enjoyable. They didn’t fake being married, but they didn’t exactly stop, either. Castiel sat closer than he would have usually, and when their hands casually brushed, neither of them pulled away. As they talked, Dean couldn’t help but notice how much Castiel was softer in this world. His hard lines were worn down by time and humanity and  _ family _ , and Dean couldn’t believe he’d possibly want any other version of Castiel. 

When they returned to their motel room to find there was only a bed, Dean was the one to snicker. “Look, Cas, only one bed.”

Castiel blinked. “That is unfortunate,” he said seriously, which only made Dean laugh more.

“Guess there’s only one thing to be done.”

“No,” Castiel yawned. His waning grace kept him going longer than the average human, but he wasn’t exactly superman anymore. “There are multiple solutions–”

“Nope, just one,” Dean grinned, “Guess we’ll have to share.”

“Share?”

“The bed,” Dean said, “We sleep in it together.”

“So soon after kissing?” Castiel asked, “I once read teenage magazine that recommended waiting–”

“Castiel,” Dean took his hand, “No offense, but I’ve waited ten years for this. So if the only thing holding you back is a teen mag…”

Castiel beamed again, “I was making a joke.”

“Thank  _ god _ .”

That night, with Castiel pressed against his chest, Dean felt the same thing he did in the dreams he’d had in the fantasy: complete peace. As Castiel snored softly next to him, Dean took the moment to press the faintest kiss to his ear. “I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered aloud, too afraid to say as much with Castiel awake.

“I love you too, Dean,” Castiel murmured. Dean’s heart soared.

When they returned to the Bunker, Dean debated about how to break the news to Sam and Jack. In the end, it was Castiel’s idea that they pull the fake marriage ploy one final time. They entered the Bunker hand in hand, Dean unable to keep the grin off his face. Even when Michael tried to give him the happiest fantasy, he fell short. Nothing could compare to this, his family nearby, his best friend in love with him.

They found Jack and Sam in the kitchen, Sam cooking up grilled cheese sandwiches while Jack stirred a pot of tomato soup. For a moment, Dean balked. What would his brother think of him falling for an angel? Castiel squeezed his hand, though, and all became right with the world.

“We’re back,” Dean said, lifting his and Castiel’s hands with a grin, “And get this, we got married on the way home.”

He expected Sam to drop the grilled cheese, to make a loud gasp, to do  _ something _ ...but to Dean’s surprise, Sam just calmly flipped the sandwich onto a plate. Then he glanced up at Dean and smirked. 

“Took you guys long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated! Check me out on tumblr at [castielrisingabove](https://castielrisingabove.tumblr.com) for more writing and a fun time!


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